


don't be stupid (you know i love you)

by Springsteen



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Hair care, M/M, Self-Discovery, crack adjacent, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:57:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22819600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Springsteen/pseuds/Springsteen
Summary: TK grins hugely when Patty starts laughing. It feels like top-shelf, game-winning victory - always has. Patty hasn’t had a whole lot to laugh about lately, so TK does what he can to make life normal for him, and doesn’t ever let him forget that he’s still a part of this team.He’s also working on his hair care routine, but Patty doesn’t need to know about that part.
Relationships: Travis Konecny/Nolan Patrick
Comments: 74
Kudos: 588





	don't be stupid (you know i love you)

**Author's Note:**

> I’m a simple girl, I see [some gifs](https://bradenholtby.tumblr.com/post/190347959575/travis-konecny-via-andreahelfrichofficials) of a guy with nice(ish) hair and a pink scrunchie on his wrist, I lose my goddamn mind.  
many thanks to daisy for beta reading and welcoming my venture into the flyers fandom. infinite thanks to reid and aj for beta reading, cheerleading, and being drawn in by the inexplicable lure of travis konecny.  
title from the incomparable Shania Twain. also, i made [a playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2LliTjx75lmwGT2g3w7CUb?si=y3DY-U-FSAGpn1kh6q5RSA) for this fic, for your listening pleasure.

It starts, mostly, because TK is bored.

Really, he just wants to know if it’s normal for his hair to be, like, cheap pizza box greasy all the time. Is it a hockey player thing? Other dudes don’t seem to have this problem. Karlsson’s got, like, a perfect viking flow - maybe that’s a Swedish thing. His greasy hair could be all Canada’s fault. It’s not that he really cares, but now he’s grown his hair out and he’s not gonna cut it again anytime soon. Maybe he doesn’t want to wear a hat every day, which is kinda what he’s got going on right now. It would be nice if it looked nice, is all.

He’s lying on his couch, scrolling through search results. Apparently you can wash your hair too much and it’ll get greasy, which doesn’t make any sense. And you’re supposed to clean your hairbrush. TK had only gotten one once his hair was long enough to actually need it, and he hasn’t really thought about it since. He’s wondering what the fuck “clarifying shampoo” is supposed to do when his phone starts buzzing, and he’s so startled he drops it on his face. 

“What?” he says when he picks up the call.

“Wow,” Patty says flatly. “‘Hey, Pat,’” he continues, in a terrible attempt at TK’s voice. “‘Glad you remembered we’re getting dinner, Patty, I’m starving’.”

“Shut up,” TK says. “I don’t sound like that.”

Patty’s quiet. TK knows he’s got that dumb little smirk on his face, even though he can’t see it. He’s done a lot of stupid shit over the years just to get Patty to smile at him like that.

“Are we getting food or what?” TK asks.

“Yeah, duh,” Patty says. “Pick you up in twenty.”

The call ends and TK’s back to “Eight Surprising Reasons Your Hair Could Be Greasy.” He’s pretty sure his hair isn’t over-conditioned, considering he doesn’t actually use hair conditioner, but it could be his pillowcase. He should probably wash his sheets anyway.

He drops his phone on the couch and swings his feet to the floor before he remembers Patty’s not right downstairs, that he’s gonna have to wait for him to drive over here. It sucks but at the same time, he gets it. Sort of. Living in the same apartment building isn’t the same as living in somebody’s house, and Kev’s at least thirty percent less of a disaster than TK - not that he’d ever tell him that. Still, it’s weird not driving together to practice and games and spending all their time on his couch playing CoD or whatever. 

They do still spend a lot of time playing CoD on his couch, but that’s not the point. Patty ditched him to live with their new teammate because he wanted more stability or something - more of a home than his and TK’s barely-decorated apartments and a kitchen someone might actually cook in. It’s fine.

He could just keep dicking around on his phone until Patty gets here, but he’s already sitting up, so he stands and wanders into his bathroom. His hairbrush is admittedly kinda gross, so he picks all the loose hairs out of it and drops them in the trash. He figures that’s good enough, but then he wonders if people actually _clean_ their hairbrushes. Is it, like, a dishwasher kind of a situation? That can’t possibly be a thing. He wonders if Ryanne knows about this kinda shit, then considers what G would say if he called his wife to ask about _hairbrushes_ and stops that thought real fast.

Ten minutes later, he’s still standing in front of his bathroom sink, watching some chick wrap her hair up into the most complicated braids he’s ever seen. It’s fucking mesmerizing. He’s so distracted he doesn’t hear the door open, doesn’t realize anybody’s even here until he hears Patty call his name.

“Teeks?” Pat says. TK drops his phone _again_. It falls into the sink, and his hairbrush - what the fuck, has he been holding that the entire fucking time - clatters to the floor. “You ready to go or what?”

“Yeah,” TK says, shoving his phone back into his pocket and flinging the hairbrush into a random drawer in the bathroom cabinet. “Yeah,” he says again, pushing his hair out of his face and remembering a second too late one of those articles he read said touching your hair too much might make it greasier. Apparently anything can make your hair greasier if you try hard enough. 

“Where do you wanna go?” TK asks, glancing up at Patty as he rounds up his coat, keys, and wallet and heads for the door. 

“Pretty sure you’re gonna need shoes, wherever we’re going,” Patty says. TK looks down, arms halfway in the sleeves of his coat, and realizes yeah, he’s only got socks on. 

“You don’t know that,” TK says, just to see Patty roll his eyes at him and act like he’s not funny. 

“Sure,” Patty mumbles. “Good luck with that.” Travis grins and goes back to his room to find his shoes. 

They argue about where to get food until Patty gives up and drives to their usual sushi place. It’s where they end up whenever either one of them wants sushi, or whenever they can’t decide what to eat, so they’re here pretty much all the time. The servers know their orders and also the sushi is really good. 

“I think I’m gonna try something different,” TK says, once they’re sitting at one of the good tables, at the bench along the wall.

“Literally why,” Patty says, not even opening the menu. TK looks at the special rolls again even though he’s probably got the menu memorized at this point.

“Variety is the spice of life,” TK says. Patty snorts. “Do you think the wasabi mayo is spicier than the spicy mayo?”

Patty presses his lips together and looks at TK. It’s a familiar expression; Patty hasn’t convinced him to shut up by glaring at him before, and it’s not gonna work now. “I think they’re the same thing,” Pat says.

“No way,” TK says. He’s not gonna change his order, but he’s not gonna let this go, either. “One has wasabi, and one is spicy. But which one is _more_ spicy?”

“Wasabi _is_ spicy,” Pat says. 

“Right, but spicy doesn’t have to have wasabi,” TK says. Patty reaches across the table and tries to close the menu TK’s reading, but TK slouches in his seat so he’s out of reach. Pat kicks his shin instead. 

The waitress comes over with potstickers and edamame, smiles at them and asks “The usual?” then takes their menus without actually waiting for them to respond. Patty smirks as he breaks his chopsticks apart and reaches for a dumpling.

TK pulls the edamame closer to him and flicks one across the table at Patty, who raises his eyebrows at him, unimpressed, and shoves an entire dumpling in his mouth. TK reaches across the table and grabs one before Pat can eat them all. In the three seconds he spends focused on not dripping soy sauce all over the table, Patty manages to flick the edamame back at him. It bounces off his cheek.

“Try that again, fucker,” TK says, still chewing. 

Patty shakes his head slowly but does anyway. TK throws his arms up when he catches it in his mouth, grins hugely when Patty starts laughing. It feels like top-shelf, game-winning victory - always has. TK’s heart feels like a balloon, floating up into the wide open sky of his feelings for Patty, the same brilliant blue as his eyes. He’s always happy when Patty’s laughing, even though Patty really hasn’t had a whole lot to laugh about lately.

It’s brutal, watching the months go by and still not seeing Patty on the ice. He knows Patty wants to be out there even more than the rest of the team misses him, knows there’s no timeline for this kind of thing. That doesn’t make it any easier to watch Patty go to endless meetings with the trainers and come to the rink but not practice with them, to watch every game this season from the press box. So TK does what he can to make life normal for Patty - he works twice as hard to get him to laugh, takes him to lunch all the time, doesn’t ever let him forget that he’s still a part of this team, no matter what.

\---

It’s been a good few days for Patty - he’s been skating after practices, been driving around, but nobody’s ready to sign off on letting him play games yet. Patty doesn’t talk about it, so TK doesn’t either. Instead, TK tries to relay every story G tells them about baby Gavin, fills him in on the funny things that happened at practice that morning, talks about anything and everything that isn’t Patty’s migraines or if starting a hair care routine is a good idea.

God, if he ever said that last phrase out loud to another human being he might as well request a trade to LA and give up gluten or some other shit. 

TK forgets about it for a while, until he’s showering after a pretty decisive win against the Kings and realizes he’s washing his hair for the second time that day. They’d had optional skate that morning, and he didn’t really wear himself out, but he also couldn’t skip the shower before tape review. Even he thinks that’s gross.

He finishes his shower like normal, flips his wet hair out of his face and grabs a couple towels. It’s not like he can look around the showers and see who’s washing their hair all the time. Nothing stopping him from asking, though. 

Once he’s dressed again, he sits down next to Hartsy, who’s bending over to tie his shoes. Hartsy’s got sort of a nice flow going, and style, probably. TK doesn’t really know anything about fashion and doesn’t really care, either, but Hartsy’s a smart kid.

“Hey, Hartsy,” he says. “Do you wash your hair every day?”

Hartsy stares at him for so long TK wishes he could wind back the clock, take it back, just disappear from the room. It’s way too much power for a rookie goalie to have off the ice, and probably what makes him so good on it.

“That’s the weakest chirp I’ve ever heard,” Hartsy finally says. On his other side, Provy snorts, probably laughing at TK. He’s always making the guys laugh, though not always the way he wants. He really should be used to it by now. The last thing he wants is for any of the other guys to hear about this, so he keeps talking and ignores Provy.

“It wasn’t a chirp,” he says. Hartsy leans his arms on his knees and lets TK keep going. “You’ve just got, like, decent style and I’m trying to, uh…” He waves a hand at his hair, sticking out all over the place as it dries. “Figure this out,” he finishes stupidly.

“You trying to score a Head and Shoulders deal or what?” Hartsy asks. TK rolls his eyes. “Ask Patty, he’s got a pretty epic flow going on. And, yeah, I wash my hair.” _Idiot_, he doesn’t add, because Hartsy’s way nicer than a lot of the other assholes on this team. Still, TK’s not that dumb. He can fill in the blanks.

Sure, it might seem obvious to just ask Patty, if you don’t know Patty the way TK does. They’ve been pretty close right from the start, and TK knows the only reason Patty’s hair is so long is because he can’t be bothered to do anything about it, including going someplace to get it cut. Some days he cleans up real good, and some days it’s totally rank, and Patty’s fine with it either way.

TK’s fine with it, too. He’s so fine with it he’d probably say something to Patty about wanting to see if his hair is as soft as it looks, or ask if he’s learned to braid it, or something equally fucking embarrassing. So yeah, he’s not gonna ask Patty about it.

“Yeah, maybe,” he says to Hartsy, standing up to leave.

Most of the guys are going out - a couple drinks, nothing crazy, since they’ve still got so much of the season to go and they don’t have a guaranteed spot in the playoffs. Still, a win’s a win and it feels good to celebrate them when they happen. 

In the hallway outside the locker room Patty’s leaning against the wall with one hand shoved in his pocket and the other holding his phone. He barely glances up when the door thuds closed behind TK.

“Dude, look at this fish,” he says, angling the phone screen just slightly so that TK has to lean up next to him to see it. It’s a shitty video some kid shot on their phone of a massive fish in some creek. “These kids were tubing and tried to lasso this thing. It’s taller than you.”

TK digs his elbow into Pat’s ribs as he shakes with near-silent laughter. “You can walk to the bar,” TK says, heading down the hall to the parking lot. 

“Sure,” Patty agrees, following him. “Not like Hayesie would give me a ride, or G, or anybody else.”

“Definitely not, because you’re the worst.”

Patty follows him out into the parking lot, still looking down at his phone - TK’s pretty sure he’s more or less blindly following his footsteps. He waits until they’re in TK’s truck to add, “They think that fish was, like, 70 years old.” 

TK thinks that’s pretty epic, for a fish a couple kids found in a creek in Minnesota. He starts telling Patty a story he’s sure he’s told before, about fishing with his brother when they were kids, Chase getting dragged into the water because his line had caught a hunk of driftwood and he’d still tried to reel it in. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Pat’s lips keep twitching up like they do when he’s trying not to smile, but he’s pretty sure it’s not because of his storytelling skills. TK reaches for his phone.

“Chin up, Teeks. Couple more years, you might hit six feet.”

TK switches the music to one of his favorite country playlists, probably the one that lost him locker room DJ privileges. He turns it up just loud enough to make his point and grins when Patty slouches in the passenger seat. He can see the edge of Patty’s smile, reflected in the car window as the city lights slide by.

The team’s been going to less clubs and more hipstery bars whenever Patty comes out with them, so tonight they’re in another place with brick walls and twinkle lights and probably kombucha on tap or some shit. TK kinda hates it, but there’s a smile tugging at the edges of Patty’s lips, so he can deal.

“The fuck is that,” Pat asks. He and TK sit down at the end of the table by G, who’s got some sort of ice cream in front of him and a huge grin on his face.

“Boozy milkshake,” he says. Patty raises his eyebrows. “Judge all you want, it’s fuckin’ delicious.”

TK looks around for a menu and has to half-crawl over the table to get one away from Hayesie. “You already have a drink, knock it off,” he says when Hayesie tries to fight him for it. Pat grabs his jacket and pulls him back into his seat before any beer gets spilled. TK doesn’t mind; he’s got the drink list.

“Thanks, Pat,” he says, flipping through the beers on tap. “Might let you share my milkshake.”

“What if I get my own,” Patty says, leaning in to read over his shoulder.

TK shrugs. “I’d share anyway,” he says. “Because I know you, and I know you’re just gonna get a beer.”

Patty ignores him, but TK’s right, and that’s exactly what he orders. After the waitress leaves, TK says, “I’m right. Always am.”

“Shut the fuck up, you are not,” Patty says, pushing TK’s shoulder. TK leans into his grip instead, nearly tipping his chair over. Patty suddenly drops his arm, letting TK fall off balance, so he flings out his arms and catches himself with one hand on the table and the other on Patty’s thigh. He blows out a slow breath.

“I just know what I like,” Patty says. TK looks up at him, and of course, Patty’s looking right back. Even in the dim bar lighting, his eyes are an intense blue. “Is that a problem?” he asks, even more mumbly than usual.

“No,” TK says, just as quiet. He’s having a totally normal amount of feelings about what Pat just said, and about the way his voice sounded when he said it.

Across the table, G loudly slurps the rest of his milkshake. TK realizes he’s still leaning on Patty’s thigh, their faces inches apart, and he slouches back in his own seat. 

“Alright over there, all star?” G asks.

“Yeah,” TK says, hoping he doesn’t sound as dazed as he feels. “Yeah, be even better once I get my milkshake.” Next to him, he can practically feel Patty roll his eyes. He’s got his legs kicked out under the table, arms crossed over his chest, frowning skeptically at him. Patty’s so quiet most of the time, TK’s kind of an expert in reading his body language by now.

“Some people like to have fun, Pats,” he says, leaning back in his chair.

“You can have fun next week in St. Louis,” Patty shoots back.

“No one has fun in St. Louis.” 

“At the All Star Game, Trav.”

“Oh. Right.”

The waitress comes back with a tray of drinks, including TK’s milkshake, which is fuckin’ delicious. TK talks to G about All Star Weekend, listens to Provy and Kev talk about their plans for the week, and lets Patty steal sips of his drink whenever he thinks TK isn’t paying attention (as if he cares - he did say they’d share it; besides, the team nutritionists are less likely to kill them over half a milkshake).

At some point, Patty leans around him to talk to Kev about something, propping his elbow on the back of TK’s chair. He leaves his arm there as the conversation shifts, a gentle warmth across his shoulders for the rest of the night.

TK’s not wearing a hat tonight, and he keeps pushing his hair out of his eyes (he’s seriously considering looking for headbands that wouldn’t make him look like a complete tool, if such a thing even exists) and every time he does it he remembers that fucking article. He’s caught himself enough times that he keeps reaching up, remembering, and dropping his hand back down to the table again.

“Do you ever sit still?” Pat mumbles, grabbing his hand halfway through another aborted hair tousle. 

“No,” TK says, wiggling his fingers in Patty’s grip just to annoy him. 

Pat presses TK’s hand down on the table. With Pat’s other arm still across his shoulders, they’re very much wrapped up in each other. TK is distressingly into it, so much so that he misses the contact when Patty looks down at their hands with a pointed glare before letting go to take a sip of his beer.

If TK leaves his hand exactly where Patty had pressed it for a while, he’s pretty sure nobody notices. 

\--

They beat Pittsburgh at home, a 4-0 shutout that has the whole team feeling on top of the world. Patty’s all smiles, high-fiving the guys as they come down the hall to the locker room. TK does a little shimmy when he walks by, tries to get a laugh out of Patty. 

“C’mon, Pat, feel like dancing?”

Patty looks down at the floor, shakes his head. “Good game, Teeks,” he says.

_You too_, TK almost says. _Missed you out there_, he thinks. It feels so obvious - it’s fucking January and Patty’s barely skated this past month. TK’s missed him since preseason. 

“Just for you, baby,” TK says with a grin. Patty’s still looking at the floor but TK doesn’t miss the soft curve of his smile.

“Yeah, whatever,” Pat says, shoving TK’s shoulder so he has to take a half-step back, rocking on his skates. “Go shower, you stink.”

“You love it,” TK says, shaking his sweaty hair in Patty’s face. Pat groans and pushes him back again. 

TK laughs and dances backwards down the hallway, knowing there’s a real chance he’ll run right into one of the trainers or crash into the wall or some shit. But when he raises his arm to point at Patty, this time he wiggles his shoulders in the lamest excuse for a dance in the history of the world. 

“Shutout dance!” TK crows, his voice echoing up and down the hall. 

“You’re such a weirdo,” Patty says, catching up with TK and pushing open the door to the locker room. TK looks at him, standing out in his game-day suit while the rest of the team is pulling off jerseys and gear. He thinks about pushing the jacket off Pat’s broad shoulders, about the fact that Patty’s been wearing less ties since he moved out, and how that just makes it easier to unbutton his shirt, and sits down heavily in his stall.

A cold shower’s probably a good idea. According to the internet it’s better for his hair, anyway.

\--

TK goes to St. Louis while the rest of the team fucks off to Cabo with their girlfriends or back to Canada to visit family or just hibernate for a week. He’s not jealous, exactly, but he’d be more pumped if All Star Weekend was in Tampa or San Jose - anywhere warmer than St. Louis. He could go for a couple days in the sun.

He’s got some idea of what to expect, but it’s still as overwhelming as it is cool. There’s a million photographers, so much media it feels like he’s starting the season over again. He shaves his scrubby goatee and brushes his hair so his mom won’t text him about how he looks like he went right from the lake to the press conference, doesn’t say anything too stupid with six different cameras in his face. He almost breaks one set-up with an LED hockey stick, but in his defense they gave it to him and told him to wave it around, so really, what did they expect?

The coolest part, for sure, is getting to meet so many guys from around the league. Most of them he only knew as a name on a jersey on a team he was trying to beat, so it’s cool to talk to them, shoot the shit, take it all in. 

He doesn’t come in dead last in the fastest skater competition, he feeds Hischier a pretty sick pass for a goal in their game, and from the few press photos he’s seen, his hair looks pretty good, so he’s gonna chalk this weekend up to a win.

\--

It turns out there’s a big difference between using a 3-in-1 bodywash on your hair and washing it with actual shampoo. It’s been a couple weeks of TK mostly remembering to not wash his hair every time he takes a shower, and if he’s gonna commit to this whole epic flow situation then he’s gonna fucking go all in. He needs a couple other things anyway, so that’s his excuse for actually dragging himself to the store. Because they’re on the road so much, TK usually just orders his groceries and shit online - it’s so much easier to just get it delivered to his doorstep the morning after he gets back to Philly. Sometimes though, like today, he feels the urge to wander up and down store aisles checking out random shit he doesn’t need, and that’s how he ends up at Target at eight p.m. at the end of the All Star break.

He is out of paper towels, and toothpaste, and he should maybe get more socks. He grabs a cart and rides the back of it like a scooter until he clips the corner of an aisle and almost dumps a whole shelf of trail mix on the floor. After that he’s pretty good at getting what he came for, more or less. He picks up a sixer of beer he’s pretty sure Sanny recommended the other day and spends some time looking at the clearance holiday decorations in the forgotten back corner of the store. Some of the ornaments shaped like weird, creepy animals are calling his name - he can totally sneak them into Provy’s stall in the locker room without him noticing, it’ll be hilarious.

He circles around the whole store before making his way toward the blindingly bright makeup aisles - jesus, why are they so bright - and rolling to a stop. Part of the reason he came here was to get actual shampoo, but he wasn’t fully prepared for there to be an entire aisle of it. Surely they can’t all be that different.

He turns his cart down the aisle and considers his options. There are _so_ fucking many. Grabbing one off the shelf at random, he throws it in his cart and wheels around. Then he picks it up again and frowns at the label. Does he want his hair to smell like chamomile and aloe? What the hell does aloe even smell like? Is this actually gonna make a difference, or has he been conned by the weirdly specific ads he’s been seeing on Instagram lately? 

There aren’t a ton of people in the store, but TK still makes sure his hat is pulled low over his face before he takes out his phone. There’s gotta be, like, helpful reviews or something. That’s the whole point of the internet.

_best shampoo_

_best shampoos at target_

_what is sulfate_

_are sulfates bad_

_shampoo for long hair_

_do i have split ends_

_do i need hair conditioner_

“Excuse me,” a voice says, then there’s an arm reaching around his shoulder. TK looks over, really hoping he’s not gonna see a fan asking for a selfie in one of the most embarrassing situations he could imagine. Some lady grabs a bottle off the shelf in front of him, drops it in her basket, and walks away without another word. 

That makes him make a decision - he’s spent way too much time here already, and if other people can just walk in and know what they’re looking for, then so can he. He grabs a shampoo that’s supposed to repair damaged hair, because that sounds like it’ll solve all his problems, dumps the matching conditioner in his cart, and heads for the checkout. 

On his way, he stops one more time, to grab a pack of plain black hair ties he spots at the end of an aisle. His hair isn’t that long yet, but it seems like the kind of thing that might be useful, eventually.

There’s a table of Girl Scouts selling cookies just beyond the registers. He buys a bunch of boxes of Thin Mints on his way out, and resolves to do all his shopping online for the rest of the year. 

\--

The next day he gets up, works out, eats breakfast, takes a shower. He’s still a little skeptical on exactly what the whole conditioner thing is supposed to do for him, but his hair is maybe a little softer. It’s hard to tell with his hair still wet. He fucks around on Twitter for a while, calls his mom, makes a vaguely disappointing lunch, hates that he’s so fucking bored. 

The girl scout cookies are sitting on the counter where he dumped them last night. He grabs a couple boxes and picks up his car keys. Patty’s probably bored, too - might as well be bored together. 

He waves the cookie boxes at Patty when he opens the door. “Not buying anything,” Patty says, letting the door slam in TK’s face.

“Hey!” he shouts, but Patty’s already opening the door again to let him in. “You’re such an asshole,” TK grumbles.

“Takes one to know one, bud,” Pat says. “What do you want?”

TK shrugs. Pat can’t see him, since he’s already flopping onto Kev’s couch, TK dropping down on the other end of it a second later. “I don’t know,” he says. “I was bored.”

“And that’s my problem?” Patty asks, already reaching for the Xbox controllers. He flings one at TK, hitting him right in the stomach. He collapses dramatically, falling over so his head is right next to Patty’s leg. Patty nudges him and starts the game.

TK keeps up a running commentary the entire time, which is pretty standard for them. He started doing it to annoy Patty, back when they barely knew each other and were just killing time in hotel rooms on the road. Now it’s just a habit. He tries to play where he is, lying sideways across the couch, for a couple rounds, but he’s even worse than usual and it kind of hurts his neck, so he sits up after a couple minutes. 

The tv screen fades when TK dies for, like, the tenth time. He can sort of feel Patty’s arm brush his shoulder every once in a while, because Patty’s a giant who can’t contain his limbs to his half of the couch.

“Why does your hair smell like flowers?” Patty asks as he restarts the game.

TK freezes and his on-screen counterpart dies almost immediately. He can feel Patty’s shoulders move when he sighs. 

“Because I wash it, bud,” TK says, smashing the restart button a little harder than necessary. “You should try it sometime.” He glances over at Patty. “Why are you smelling my hair?”

Patty slowly blushes a dull red that TK knows better than to chirp him about if he wants Patty to talk to him at all the rest of the day. Patty doesn’t say anything, totally focused on Kev’s giant tv. 

TK can’t stop thinking about it, to the point that he can’t think of anything else to talk about, so he doesn’t talk. His focus is so shot that he doesn’t even notice when he dies again. He does feel it when Patty pokes him in the side, squirms away when he does it again. 

“You’re being weird,” Patty says.

“_You_’re being weird,” TK shoots back immediately, poking Pat’s shoulder in retaliation. Patty grabs his wrist, TK yanks his arm away, and Patty uses the momentum to roll himself across the couch. TK tries to shove him off, but he’s so fucking heavy he doesn’t budge, so he slides his free hand high up on Patty’s side and digs his fingers in, right where he knows he’s ticklish. 

“Mother_fucker_,” Patty says breathlessly through involuntary giggles, reaching for TK’s other hand. While Patty’s focused on stopping TK from tickling him, TK tries to shove him off again. Both of them fall off the couch, landing on the floor with a crash. TK’s head misses the coffee table by about two inches.

Patty lands more or less on top of him, but TK manages to roll them onto their sides with a leg hooked around Patty’s hips. Patty’s got his giant hands around both of TK’s wrists now and holds both of them above TK’s head. TK presses against him to test his grip, but Patty must be keeping up with weightlifting because he’s strong as hell. Pat’s finger catches on the hair tie TK’s started wearing around his wrist, pulls on it and lets it snap back against TK’s skin. TK barely feels the sting, but he can’t ignore the shiver it sends up his spine.

He’s trapped on the floor between the couch and the long line of Patty’s body. Nothing good can happen in this situation, so before he can do anything really stupid, he leans in and licks a long stripe up Patty’s cheek. 

“Oh, gross, dude,” Patty splutters, trying to wipe his face on the shoulder of his shirt. It doesn’t really work, so now his face is impossibly red and there’s a streak of TK’s spit across his cheekbone. This… may have backfired on him; if he couldn’t handle it before, he’s really in it now. They’re practically nose-to-nose on the floor, and this definitely isn’t the first time they’ve ended up like this after a little wrestling, but it is the first time TK keeps catching himself staring at his best bro’s lips.

Patty loosens his grip on one of his wrists, drags his fingers in a steady line of pressure down his arm, and gently brushes TK’s hair out of his eyes. TK stays completely frozen, afraid he’ll shatter this moment if he breathes too hard. 

Then Patty rolls to his feet suddenly and smoothly and walks away, leaving TK lying on the floor wondering what the fuck just happened. It’s probably a good thing Patty got up, because otherwise TK almost definitely would’ve given in to the impulse to lean in and kiss him, which most definitely has never happened before in any of their dumb wrestling matches. 

He sits up slowly and thinks it over. It had been, like, an extremely soft moment - Patty’s fingers in his hair and their faces inches apart. Patty’s a pretty kissable dude, he realizes, thinking about his arm across TK’s shoulders at the bar, about every smile he’s coaxed out of Patty and all the time he’s spent trying to get him to laugh. Even after Patty moved in with Kev they still spend pretty much all their time together - they’re basically dating, but nobody’s getting off, which he now realizes is incredibly fucking stupid. 

Patty sits back down on the couch, drops a water bottle on the floor by TK’s knee, and rips open one of the cookie boxes. He bumps TK’s shoulder with an Xbox controller. TK takes it and restarts the game, but he’s even worse than before because now he can’t stop thinking about the warm, steady weight of Patty’s hands around his wrists and how the fuck you’re supposed to ask your bud if he maybe wants to add a “fuck” to their buddy-ship. 

\--

Now that he’s thought about it, it’s like there isn’t room in his brain for anything else. Their first practice back from the break he can’t find the back of the net to save his life. He whiffs so hard on a pass from G he ends up on the ice, makes some shitty excuse about too many days off, tries harder to focus on the next drill. 

He does manage to pull himself together, put his head down and really focus, right up until he sees Patty in the weight room, red faced and sweaty going through his sets. TK walks right into the doorframe. When it startles a laugh out of Patty, he pretends he did it on purpose.

He skips the shampoo in the shower, like he’s started to do after practice. Nobody’s called him a greaseball in weeks, and he’s starting to think maybe those internet lists were right.

\--

They lose to the Pens in Pittsburgh in overtime, and it sucks. They give up three goals in the second, one because TK took a stupid penalty, and even though Laughts ties it up in the third Crosby makes them all look like idiots in the end. 

At the hotel after, TK’s standing in the dim hallway in front of the ice machine. Fucking Hornqvist had crushed him into the boards early on; he’d hit the ice gasping for breath, and his ribs are definitely bruised. He’s mostly fine, but he’ll feel better once he ices it, and also if he sleeps right up until they board a plane and fly to Colorado tomorrow. 

Something’s buzzing and at first he thinks it’s the ice machine, until he realizes it’s his phone in the pocket of his sweatpants. He shoves the hotel ice bucket under the ice machine and digs his phone out of his pocket, staring at the screen for a few long seconds when he sees Patty trying to FaceTime.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk to Patty - he doesn’t really want to talk to anyone right now. He just wants to lie down in his hotel room and zone out to whatever random movie he can find and feel miserable until he falls asleep, which won’t take long with how tired he is. But however bad he feels, however many mistakes he made in the game, he was still on the ice tonight. He got to play and fight and lose with the team while Patty’s still in Philly. 

“Turn on Discovery Channel,” is all Patty says when TK accepts the call. He’s holding the phone at a stupid angle so TK can only see half his face, shadowed dramatically from where he’s sitting on the couch next to a floor lamp in Kev’s living room. 

“You look like a movie, bud.”

The screen blurs wildly and then Patty’s glaring at him, one-eyed, probably holding his phone about two inches from his face. “Are you seriously trying to sing Adele at me right now?” 

“What? No,” TK says. He doesn’t even know what song Pat’s talking about. “I mean with the light, and the - never mind. Hang on.” He grabs the ice bucket with one hand and shifts his grip on his phone so he can poke the ice dispenser button. The tiny room fills with the hum and clatter of the ice machine. Patty definitely says something and TK can’t even guess what it is.

“Give me, like, two fucking seconds bro, I gotta get back to my room,” he says, shaking the ice down into the bucket. “You’re so impatient.”

“Uh,” says a different voice, not from his phone. TK looks up. G’s standing in the entrance to the little alcove, silhouetted by the hallway light. “Talking to yourself now, Teeks?”

TK waves his phone at G. “FaceTiming Patty. He says hey.”

“No I don’t,” Patty says through his phone.

G closes his eyes for a second. “Right. Of course. Well, don’t let me interrupt this midnight rendezvous.” He steps past TK to the vending machine, swipes his credit card, picks up the Gatorade it dispenses. “If you’re trying to be subtle about it you might want to stay in your room, though.” 

“Why would - what do you mean?” TK splutters. “Everybody knows we’re friends!”

“Oh my god,” Patty mumbles, barely audible through his phone speaker. 

G just stares at him and twists the lid off his Gatorade. “Okay,” he says. “Night, Teeks. Night, Pat. Don’t stay up too late, we’ve got an early flight tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Dad!” TK yells obnoxiously after him. It’s kind of awkward to juggle the ice bucket and his phone while he unlocks his hotel room, but he does it without dropping anything. He drops his phone on the bed for a minute so he can dump the ice into a towel, yanks his shirt off, and groans when he collapses on the bed, ice pressed to the bruise on his side.

“Okay,” he says, scooping up his phone again. “What did you want me to do?”

“Discovery Channel,” Pat says in his most toneless interview voice. TK twists around, tries to grab the remote without dumping ice all over the sheets. He just manages to reach it and turns the tv on.

Patty had to FaceTime to tell him there’s a River Monsters marathon on tv.

“Pretty sure I’ve seen this episode, bud,” TK says, squirming around trying to get comfortable. He hisses when an ice cube escapes the towel and trickles down his side.

“We definitely haven’t watched this one,” Patty says.

TK’s laying on his side so he can hold the ice on his ribs. He props his phone up on a pillow so now he can sort of watch Patty and the tv at the same time. “No, I said _I’ve_ seen this one,” he says. “Not we.”

“Have you?” Pat asks.

“That’s what I just fucking said,” TK says, though now he’s not so sure. He feels like he’s seen every episode, but it’s not the kind of show you have to sit down and watch in order.

“Then pick something else to watch,” Patty says. The view is really weird, like he’d put his phone down on the couch next to him and sort of tried to lean it at a decent angle. It makes Pat look stupidly tall.

“No,” TK says. “We’re watching this now.” He relaxes into the bed, carefully shifting the ice around so his side doesn’t go fully numb. Patty doesn’t say anything, but he can sort of hear the tv through his phone.

“I miss the lake,” TK says after a while. Patty sighs loudly. “Shut up, I do,” TK continues. “It’s warm ‘cuz it’s summer, and it’s so quiet it feels like the whole world’s a million miles away.”

“Can’t imagine you ever being quiet,” Patty says. 

“Ha ha,” TK says. “Never heard that one before, especially from you.”

“I miss it too,” Pat says.

“Me shutting up?”

On the phone screen, Patty makes a face at him. “The lake, Teeks. Fishing.”

TK smirks. “Got a lot of lakes in Manitoba, bud? They’re probably fine but are they -”

“Don’t you fucking dare -”

“_Great_ lakes?”

“I hate you so much,” Patty says as TK laughs.

“No, you don’t,” TK says easily. “Hey, you should come visit me this summer.” He doesn’t even think about it before he says it, but it’s definitely a great idea. Patty’s been training with his Winnipeg commune dudes most summers, but they can totally find a week to make something work. “Come down to my cabin, hang out on the lake, meet the boys,” he continues. “It’d be sweet. Give you the chance to fish on a real lake. Not gonna lie, it gets pretty intense - I’m talkin’ like six or eight rods kinda shit. But like, still fun, obviously.”

“Trav.” He looks down at his phone. Pat’s phone is still on his couch, but he’s looking down at it - looking at TK.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“I’ll think about it,” Patty says. “I’ll let you know sometime before summer.”

“Dude,” TK says. “Patty. That’s like, months.”

“Yeah, I know,” Patty says. “Gives me time to find a ton of summer plans that don’t involve you.” 

“Hey!” TK says. “You’d miss me.”

Patty’s quiet, but TK knows he’s right. They watch a couple more episodes, and TK must fall asleep at some point, because he wakes up the next morning with a puddle of melted ice next to him, the tv still on and his phone half under a pillow by his side. 

\--

It turns out you’re supposed to wash hats if you wear them all the time. TK’s pretty fucking skeptical. He really likes some of his hats, and he doesn’t wanna have to replace them if they all melt into a giant soapy disaster in the washing machine or something. He tries it with an old Flyers hat and, when that comes out just fine, chucks in a bunch one day before he goes to practice. The Flyers hat doesn’t quite survive the dryer, though, so he’s gotta figure something else out once he gets back from practice.

It seems like a lot of work to hang all his hats up to dry, so he just spreads them across his kitchen island. It’s not like he ever cooks on it, anyway, and he can just wipe it off tomorrow. He thinks it’s pretty genius and kind of forgets about it for the rest of the day. 

He’s looking at deep conditioning treatments online and trying to decide what to do for dinner when somebody knocks on his door. Quickly he shuts his laptop and shoves it out of sight. That’s not the kind of chirp material he’s willing to let anybody find out. 

There’s only a few people who’ve ever even been to his apartment, so he’s not sure who he’s expecting, but it isn’t G smiling at him with a couple shopping bags. “Hope you don’t have dinner plans,” he says, walking into TK’s apartment and forcing him to either get out of his way or get run over. 

“How did you even get in the building?” He follows G through his own apartment, deeply thankful there aren’t empty pizza boxes or beer bottles scattered across the coffee table right now.

“Bribed your doorman,” G answers easily. “Big Eagles fan, promised him some tickets. You might wanna move to a place with better security.”

“Bullshit,” TK says. He knows all the people who work his building’s front desk, they’re all cool. They’d never sell him out for G’s stupid charm, he’s pretty sure. “You held the door for some nice old lady, didn’t you? What are you even doing here? Don’t you have a family to cook for?” TK asks, watching G set the bags in the kitchen. G waves his arm at all of TK’s hats and raises his eyebrows judgily.

“You live like this?”

“I washed them! They’re drying!” TK puts his hands on his hips. “Look man, I don’t come into your house uninvited and point out all the stupid shit you’ve got lying around.”

“You like steak?” G asks, completely ignoring him. “Do you have a grill pan?”

“What do you think?” Who doesn’t like steak, honestly. 

“Yeah, I didn’t think you’d have one,” G says, and pulls a frying pan out of one of the bags. “You’re welcome. Now get over here.” 

“I’m not helping,” he says, but he does go over to the stove, where G proceeds to teach him to cook steaks in the most condescending way possible (he knows how to turn the stove on, for fuck’s sake).

G waits until he’s finished cooking and they’re sitting down to eat what TK really doesn’t want to admit is a mediocre steak dinner to spring his attack. “So what’s going on with you and Pats?” he asks casually. TK’s knife screeches across his plate.

“What do you mean, what’s going on with me and Pats?” 

G levels a look at him across the table that says _don’t be a fucking idiot._ TK squares his shoulders and glares right back at him. “We’re friends,” he says. “We’re like, really good friends. Wait a minute, would it be, like, a problem if we were… more?”

“No,” G snorts. “Coupla guys already think you two’re fucking.”

“_What_,” TK says, dropping his fork with a clatter. “Who? Wait, why do they -”

“Come on, Teeks,” G says, putting down his silverware. “You two are together all the time, you obviously care about each other a lot - whatever that means to you. Believe it or not, I just want you to be happy. Both of you.”

TK looks up at G. He and Ry have been together for fucking ever, long enough to get married and have a kid and make a little family. G probably knows what he’s talking about, or he did, at some point. TK’s heard the story of how he and Ry met, and it sounds exactly like the kind of dumb shit he and Patty would do for each other. TK’s still young but he wants something like what G has, someday, and yeah, maybe he wants that with Patty. 

“I don’t know how to, like, ask him,” TK finally says quietly. “How he feels, I mean. Because I want to, like…” He gestures vaguely. “I don’t know, date him, I guess.”

G gives him a minute, waits to see if he’s gonna elaborate on those feelings. He absolutely is not. “Maybe you should say those words to him,” G finally says.

“Not a chance,” TK scoffs. He can see G mentally preparing for more advice, so he goes for quiet, painful honesty. “What if he hates me? Or like, doesn’t wanna be friends with me anymore.” 

“Nolan Patrick?” G says. “Our Patty? Dude roomed with you on the road for an entire season, moved into your building, and you’re afraid he won’t want to be friends anymore because you want to suck his dick?” TK groans and covers his face with his hands. That’s exactly what he’s afraid of, but he did _not_ need to hear G say it out loud. “You two fight all the time - as far as I can tell, that’s your entire friendship. If you think he’d stop being friends with you after all that, you’re even dumber than I thought.”

“Get out of my house,” TK moans from behind his palms. 

“Look,” G says. “I really think you should say something to him, but it’s up to you. You gotta decide if it’s worth it to put your heart on the line, or if you can live with not knowing.”

G leaves him with a kitchen full of dirty dishes and way too many thoughts in his head.

He digs his laptop out again and orders the deep conditioner. It’s easier to think about getting the “full, shiny hair of his dreams” (we’ll see about that, _Cosmo_) than for him to consider telling Patty about his feelings. He’d rather do pretty much anything than tell Patty about his feelings right now, and even if he’s aware that’s his entire problem, that doesn’t make it any easier to actually do something about it.

\--

TK knows G’s right, which is annoying, but it’s also not something he can afford to think about when they’re still fighting for a playoff spot. He tries to focus twice as hard on hockey, puts in the work at practice and really pays attention during tape review. It pays off when they shut out the Red Wings in Detroit. He’s still buzzing on the plane back to Philly, can’t sit still for the short flight home. 

He goes straight to his bedroom once he’s back at his apartment, drops his gear bag, kicks off his shoes, and passes out as soon as he gets in bed. 

The next morning he trips over his bag getting out of bed. It’s not the greatest start to his day, but he has enough time to stop for coffee on his way to practice. When he sees Patty in the locker room pulling on his shoulder pads, he grins.

“Hey, buddy,” he says brightly. “Would’ve brought coffee for you if I knew you’d be here. How’s it goin’?”

Patty twists around to look at him. “I mean, I'll take your coffee,” he says. “Sounds like you don’t need it today.”

“Fuck you, bud,” TK says cheerfully, crossing to his locker to get changed. He’s in the middle of taping his socks when he sees Patty pull a regular practice jersey over his head. The roll of tape slips out of his fingers - he’s not the only one staring, but he does keep looking the longest.

“Something you wanna share, Pats?” Coots asks. The locker room is freakishly silent, the whole team waiting. 

Patty shrugs, pushing his arms through the sleeves. “Trainers cleared me for team practices,” he says. “No games yet, but I’ll see you out there, eh boys?” He grabs his helmet and leaves the locker room, probably so nobody can see how hard he’s blushing. TK whoops as he goes, and after a second the rest of the team joins in. 

The mood on the ice is downright fucking joyful. Everybody’s grinning; when Kev gets on the ice he skates right over to Patty and wraps him up in a hug. “Good to have you back, ya beaut!” he shouts. Patty takes it all in stride with his usual blushy, fake-cool attitude. TK knows he’s loving this, too. 

TK tries to focus on his own hockey, but he keeps glancing over at Pat. He looks good - passes connecting, skating hard, getting the puck on goal. It’s almost like he hasn’t been gone at all. TK drifts over to him as they’re running drills, taps his stick blade against his shins.

“Let’s get lunch after this,” he says. “Unless you’ve got big plans or something.”

Patty glances at him over his shoulder. “Since when do I have big plans, dude,” he says. “Not sushi, though.”

Coach blows the whistle and Patty takes off down the boards, buries a one-timer from Hayesie and wheels around the net, a small, pleased smile on his face. TK’s heart kicks into double-time before he even skates off for his turn. 

Hayesie drove Pat to practice that morning, so TK drives them home, stopping for sandwiches at one of Pat’s favorite places. It’s a real divey kind of place, with sticky tabletops, four things on the menu, and at least three handwritten “CASH ONLY” signs taped to the register. They’d discovered it stoned out of their minds one off day their rookie year. Patty claimed it was a religious experience. TK wouldn’t go that far, but it is pretty good. 

It’s not the most exciting day they’ve ever had, but TK’s really trying to keep things as normal as possible. This could be any other day from last season, except for how TK keeps forcing himself not to stare, to resist the temptation to reach out and swipe the mustard off Patty’s stupid face. 

He’s got it so, so bad.

After lunch TK’s driving on autopilot, ends up turning into his apartment’s parking garage before he even realizes what he’s doing. “Did you want to go home?” he asks, looking over at Pat. 

Patty gives him a look. “Guess not,” he says. “We can chill, it’s fine.”

“I can turn around,” TK says, throwing it in reverse even though it’s fucking impossible to back out onto this street. For Patty, he’d try.

“Nah,” Patty says. “Forget it. We’re already here.” He takes off his toque, runs his fingers through his hair, puts it back on. “Besides, your apartment is basically home, so.”

TK very nearly drives into a parked car and has to turn the wheel hard in the other direction. “Because I lived in an identical apartment for a while, is what I meant,” Patty adds. “Don’t need to crash the car about it.”

“I wasn’t gonna crash, calm the fuck down.”

“Sure,” Pat says, smirking.

“You can drive next time.”

“Whatever you say, bud.”

The entire elevator ride up to his apartment, TK thinks about G’s advice, about whether or not he can live his life not knowing if he has a real chance with Patty. The elevator stops on his floor and he opens his apartment door, holds it open for Patty behind him.

“Hey,” TK says. “Do you ever think about how, like…” He rubs his hand over his face, takes a deep breath, starts over again. “We’ve been friends for a while, and like, that’s cool, but what if, like.” TK has never in his life had so much trouble just saying what’s on his mind. 

“Dude, what are you saying?” Patty asks. “Simplify the game, bud.”

TK nods, licking his lips. “Yeah,” he says, mostly convincing himself this isn’t the worst idea he’s ever had. “Yeah,” he says again, and leans up to kiss Patty right on the lips.

Patty doesn’t react at all. It’s just a dry press of lips, definitely not the best kiss TK’s ever had. It doesn’t feel like a life-changing kind of kiss, but he’s pretty sure it is, for better or worse. He rocks back on his heels, looks down at the slush from their shoes melting on the floor. 

“Right, I gotta go,” TK says, stepping around Pat and remembering a minute too late that they’re in his apartment, that he has nowhere to actually go, and that he definitely can’t just leave Patty here and give him even more reasons to hate him.

“Hold up,” Patty says, grabbing his sleeve. His mouth is pulled into a tight frown and he’s staring hard at TK’s shoulder. “You don’t have to try to, like, cheer me up all the time. And I definitely don’t want your pity. I thought you knew that.”

“Pity?” TK repeats incredulously. “Pity? Dude, I’ve been freaking out all week because I think I kinda love you and it’s so bad G staged an intervention and tried to get me to talk about my feelings - which was terrible, by the way, he overcooked some steaks and then didn’t even help with the dishes.” Said dishes were still in the sink, but that was beside the point. “Also, I know I don’t have to cheer you up all the time. I _want_ to cheer you up all the time, because I want you to be happy. So you’d better learn to deal with that one.”

Patty stares at him, face blank. “Are you done?” he asks.

“Yes?” TK says. He could keep going though, if Patty’s confused. He’s a little confused himself, honestly, at least until Patty leans down and kisses him. 

_This_ is what TK had been too scared to hope for - the familiarity of Patty’s big hand on his shoulder, the newness of his thumb brushing the bare skin of his neck where his coat’s not actually buttoned. Patty’s objectively terrible facial hair is scratchy, probably going to give him the stupidest beard burn in history, but he cannot bring himself to care.

He slides his hands up under Patty’s coat and pushes it off his shoulders, forcing Pat to take his hands off him long enough for the coat to hit the floor. TK yanks off his coat, too, kicks off his shoes and starts tugging Pat towards the couch with both hands on his hips. He stumbles, walking backwards through his own apartment, and feels Pat’s smile against his lips. Turns out the only time TK doesn’t want to make Patty laugh is when they’re kissing.

“Shut up,” TK says, tightening his grip on him.

Patty’s smile makes his eyes bright, crinkled at the corners. “Make me,” he says, voice low, and that challenge is all too easy for TK.

Patty backs him into the wall, knocks TK’s hat to the floor, slides his fingers through TK’s hair. “Your hair is really soft,” Pat mumbles.

“Yeah, I’m working on a hair care routine,” TK says thoughtlessly, pressing kisses along Patty’s jaw.

Pat leans back and stares at him, biting his bottom lip so he doesn’t smile. “I changed my mind,” he says. “I’m leaving, see you never.” He doesn’t move, though, still pressed against TK with one hand in his hair, his thumb absently stroking back and forth.

“Pretty sure you know where the door is,” TK says. His arm is wrapped around Pat’s waist, fingers dipping down to the waistband of his sweats.

“No I don’t, actually,” he says. “Maybe you should show me.”

TK grins and pushes him back towards his bedroom instead, stopping every few steps to kiss the smile at the corner of Patty’s lips.

\--

Later, they’re lying in his bed, TK’s head on Patty’s chest, his arm around his waist. He’s pretty sure Patty’s asleep, is about to pass out himself when Patty says, “So, were you serious?”

TK’s said a lot of things in the past few hours about Patty’s mouth, his hands, his body. He doesn’t really want to hear any of it repeated back to him, but he had meant it. All of it. Still, he’s gonna need Patty to be a little more specific. “About what?”

Pat sweeps his fingers through TK’s hair, right at the top of his neck. “You’ve got a ‘hair care routine’?”

TK looks up at him. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

Patty’s still playing with his hair. “’s nice,” he mumbles. “Weird, but nice.”

TK frowns. “Why’s it weird?”

“Unexpected,” Patty amends. “Bro, you come back to training camp every year reeking like fish.”

“I do?” Patty snorts. “What, I can’t smell like fish and have a nice, shiny flow?”

“Wow, I’m never giving you a compliment again.”

“That was the worst fucking compliment - “

“Fine.” Patty tugs on his hair; TK shuts up. “I like your hair. I like your face, even with whatever this is.” He taps TK’s chin, where he’s growing out his goatee again. As if Patty can talk, he’s got like three dumb hairs on his chin.

“Really feeling the love, bud,” TK says. 

“You are so annoying, I don’t know why I like you,” Patty says. He keeps talking before TK can say anything. “But I do.”

TK grins. Patty smiles right back at him. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! i'm on [tumblr](http://segwins.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/emilyreadsfic).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] don't be stupid (you know i love you)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29117865) by [LittleRedRobinHood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRedRobinHood/pseuds/LittleRedRobinHood)


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